


Stranger than Fiction

by thesometimeswarrior



Series: Flash Fic (A Collection of Drabbles, Double Drabbles, and Triple Drabbles) [53]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Pre-Canon, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: There are days he thinks he imagined it—Ford, the portal, the whole damn thing.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Flash Fic (A Collection of Drabbles, Double Drabbles, and Triple Drabbles) [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1143650
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Stranger than Fiction

There are days he thinks he imagined it—Ford, the portal, the whole damn thing. 

Because it _seems_ fucking unbelievable, right? Like something in a sci-fi story Ford read out loud to him as a kid, or something out of a particularly bad trip—he’d had a few of those. But even more than all the portal crap, the fact that Ford had _called_ him seems like a dream, that after ten years of imagining it, he had actually seen Ford, even for—what had it been? An hour? Maybe? 

He recounts the story in his head over-and-over on an endless loop like he had with every new alias he’d taken on on the run so that they’d flow naturally off his tongue, and every time, the events seem like a fiction, a fabrication, a comic book, a _dream_ …

And yet. He wakes up every morning and most nights in—well, mostly _under_ —a house nicer than any he’d have been able to afford. He spends every hour he’s not working to ensure he can pay to stay in that house staring at the portal, even if the stupid thing won’t turn on for him like it had for his brother. 

And, if these two things weren’t enough, every night he cradles a book chockfull of the same handwriting his twin would use to write him secret messages once upon a time. 

And, on his back, there is a brand, and it still burns sometimes, even after months, then years, then decades.

And it _hurts_ — _all_ these things, they _hurt_ —but he clings to them, lists them in his head first thing every morning, because they remind him it’s real, it’s _real_ , it _happened_ , it’s his _fault_ , but it _happened_ , and he has to—he _will_ —get his brother _back_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed--I love comments!


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